He threw another couple of sticks onto it and listened to them crackle and hiss.
"There might be trouble coming," he said pensively. Ess'yr said nothing. She was watching him, her eyes set like polished flints in the blue frame of her tattoos. Varryn's knife continued to rasp rhythmically across the skin.
"We think the Black Road has cut us off from the south," Orisian went on, unperturbed by their silence. "Taim's gone to meet them. He wouldn't let me go with him."
"You are precious to him," Ess'yr said impassively.
"Yes." Orisian flicked a sideways glance in her direction. Part of him longed to reach out to her, and lay a soft hand on her shoulder, her arm. "Yes, perhaps. Though I don't know that I'm really any safer here than out there. I'm not sure such a thing as safety's possible any more."
Ess'yr looked down, returning her attention to the little carcass.
"I would not..." Orisian began, but the sentence collapsed beneath the confused weight of his feelings. He tried again: "I don't know quite why you have stayed here. I am--I am glad of it, but... If you want to go, you shouldn't stay because you think you owe me anything."
He was aware that Varryn had stopped his work and was now staring at him. The cleaning knife rested point down on the warrior's knee.
"Owe you?" Ess'yr said. "No. Not you."
"Inurian?"
"It does not matter," she said. A lie, Orisian thought; or at best a kind of truth his human understanding could not encompass.
"Our enemy makes alliance with your enemy," Ess'yr placidly continued. "We do not need to seek them out, for they come in search of you. Your fight is our fight."
"Your brother does not agree," Orisian said.
Ess'yr ignored him. Varryn returned to his task.
"It is only that I fear what may happen," Orisian said. His mood was darkening once again, and he half-regretted speaking. If he had said nothing, just sat here and treasured the silent companionship, he might have preserved the illusion of closeness, of intimacy, a little longer. "I see few paths that lead anywhere other than into shadow. I would regret it if you followed me that way when you did not need to. I just wanted you to know that."
Ess'yr flicked bones into the fire. The trees above shivered in a momentary surge of wind.
"All paths lead to shadow in the end," Ess'yr said.
"If we live through today," said Orisian, watching the trembling flames, "and through the next night, I mean to leave this place. I don't know what will happen, but the time is coming when all of this will end. One way or the other."
He realised that he had lost their attention. The two Kyrinin lifted their heads, turned towards the west. Orisian saw the knife fall from Varryn's hand and his fingers dance into a blur of motion. Ess'yr made a grunting reply to whatever message her brother conveyed and rose to her feet.
"What is it?" Orisian asked softly, looking up at her. He could guess, in truth, for he had learned to read the code of their bodies and moods: in some sound or scent upon the air, some sign too subtle for meagre human senses, they had caught forewarning of danger.
Orisian twisted, a shout for his own warriors gathering in his throat, but Ess'yr was already moving. One pace, two, away from the fire. A stoop to sweep up her spear from where it rested against one of the apple trees. Her front foot stamped down. Her arm snapped forward. The spear flew.
And as that shaft left her hand, and darted across the darkening air between the ancient trees, there was movement atop the wall: a head, and then shoulders, just rising into sight. Orisian had time to register nothing more than a swirl of dark hair, the dull flash of a blade clasped in a gloved hand, before the spear thudded into the man's chest. He fell back silently and disappeared.
"There are more," Ess'yr said, reaching for her bow.
But Orisian knew that for himself by then. He could hear the voices, the angry cries, the pounding feet. He leaped up and ran, shouting for his
"There might be trouble coming," he said pensively. Ess'yr said nothing. She was watching him, her eyes set like polished flints in the blue frame of her tattoos. Varryn's knife continued to rasp rhythmically across the skin.
"We think the Black Road has cut us off from the south," Orisian went on, unperturbed by their silence. "Taim's gone to meet them. He wouldn't let me go with him."
"You are precious to him," Ess'yr said impassively.
"Yes." Orisian flicked a sideways glance in her direction. Part of him longed to reach out to her, and lay a soft hand on her shoulder, her arm. "Yes, perhaps. Though I don't know that I'm really any safer here than out there. I'm not sure such a thing as safety's possible any more."
Ess'yr looked down, returning her attention to the little carcass.
"I would not..." Orisian began, but the sentence collapsed beneath the confused weight of his feelings. He tried again: "I don't know quite why you have stayed here. I am--I am glad of it, but... If you want to go, you shouldn't stay because you think you owe me anything."
He was aware that Varryn had stopped his work and was now staring at him. The cleaning knife rested point down on the warrior's knee.
"Owe you?" Ess'yr said. "No. Not you."
"Inurian?"
"It does not matter," she said. A lie, Orisian thought; or at best a kind of truth his human understanding could not encompass.
"Our enemy makes alliance with your enemy," Ess'yr placidly continued. "We do not need to seek them out, for they come in search of you. Your fight is our fight."
"Your brother does not agree," Orisian said.
Ess'yr ignored him. Varryn returned to his task.
"It is only that I fear what may happen," Orisian said. His mood was darkening once again, and he half-regretted speaking. If he had said nothing, just sat here and treasured the silent companionship, he might have preserved the illusion of closeness, of intimacy, a little longer. "I see few paths that lead anywhere other than into shadow. I would regret it if you followed me that way when you did not need to. I just wanted you to know that."
Ess'yr flicked bones into the fire. The trees above shivered in a momentary surge of wind.
"All paths lead to shadow in the end," Ess'yr said.
"If we live through today," said Orisian, watching the trembling flames, "and through the next night, I mean to leave this place. I don't know what will happen, but the time is coming when all of this will end. One way or the other."
He realised that he had lost their attention. The two Kyrinin lifted their heads, turned towards the west. Orisian saw the knife fall from Varryn's hand and his fingers dance into a blur of motion. Ess'yr made a grunting reply to whatever message her brother conveyed and rose to her feet.
"What is it?" Orisian asked softly, looking up at her. He could guess, in truth, for he had learned to read the code of their bodies and moods: in some sound or scent upon the air, some sign too subtle for meagre human senses, they had caught forewarning of danger.
Orisian twisted, a shout for his own warriors gathering in his throat, but Ess'yr was already moving. One pace, two, away from the fire. A stoop to sweep up her spear from where it rested against one of the apple trees. Her front foot stamped down. Her arm snapped forward. The spear flew.
And as that shaft left her hand, and darted across the darkening air between the ancient trees, there was movement atop the wall: a head, and then shoulders, just rising into sight. Orisian had time to register nothing more than a swirl of dark hair, the dull flash of a blade clasped in a gloved hand, before the spear thudded into the man's chest. He fell back silently and disappeared.
"There are more," Ess'yr said, reaching for her bow.
But Orisian knew that for himself by then. He could hear the voices, the angry cries, the pounding feet. He leaped up and ran, shouting for his
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